


Hold me Sam, that was Beautiful

by CydSA



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CydSA/pseuds/CydSA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: Why did you insist on wrapping half a roll of gauze around a perfectly healthy ankle?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold me Sam, that was Beautiful

Dean glared at Sam. “You couldn’t have just stayed out of the way?” he asked.

Sam limped to the passenger door. “You couldn’t have just hit the fucking thing the first time?” He wrenched the door open and climbed inside.

Dean opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. He really hated it when Sam had the last word.

He stomped around to his side of the car and slammed the door after him. “It was sneaky,” he said after several moments of weighted silence.

Sam stared at him. “It was _sneaky_?” he asked. “Seriously? That’s why you missed?”

Dean turned the key to the ignition, forcing his eyes to stay on the road. “Yes,” he said, keeping it short and sweet.

Sam made a disgusted noise and leaned his head back. Dean had a moment of horror when he thought about close Sam had come to being sliced open by werewolf claws. He wanted to reach over and touch Sam, just to be sure that he was actually there.

“I call dibs on the first shower,” Sam said, eyes closed.

Dean really wanted to protest, but he reckoned that not having his ass handed to him would be a healthier option. “Fine. How’s the ankle?”

Sam grunted. “Hurts like a bitch.”

Dean felt a little guilty. Shoving Sam out of the way had been his only recourse but maybe he shouldn’t have pushed so hard. “I’ll tape it up when you’ve finished with the shower,” he offered.

Sam cracked one eye open. “Thanks,” he said as though he recognized it for the peace offering it was.

The silence was a lot more comfortable now.

The motel was nothing special. Apart from the ancient neon sign that read ___CAN_Y_ in red and flashed _PE_D_Y_ in blue alternately. It amused Dean.

Sam moved slowly now. He looked as though he was hurting. Dean wanted to offer a hand, an arm. Anything that would make it less painful to watch.

He knew that the offer would be rejected. Winchesters had perfected the art of manfully suffering in semi-silence.

The shower started up and Dean took out their first aid kit. It had expanded over the years. Mostly because as they got older, it seemed that they got hurt a little more often. And by increasingly more dangerous enemies.

Dean called Garth. “The dog is dead,” he said, keeping one eye on the bathroom door. It was slightly ajar, the way it always was. Nothing weird about it, just their way of making sure the other was still there. Not co-dependent, fuck you very much Zachariah. 

“Should I give you a reward?” Garth asked and Dean grinned. The skinny little shit was developing a pair of big brass ones.

“We’re going to head back to the bunker for a while,” he told Garth. “Sam got hit and we need to rest.”

“He okay?” Garth’s concern was genuine and Dean was briefly glad that he was one of the few still left alive. Winchesters were hard on friends and family.

“Just needs some downtime,” Dean said and then Sam came out of the bathroom. “Gotta go,” Dean said and ended the call. “Shit, Sammy, you look like you went ten rounds with Mike Tyson and lost all of them.”

“Fuck you,” Sam said and collapsed onto his bed. 

“I’m gonna grab a shower and then take care of that ankle,” Dean said.

“Mm,” Sam murmured, one arm flung over his eyes. “You call Garth?”

“Yeah,” Dean pulled off his shirt and toed off his shoes. “Told him we were taking a little vacation.”

Sam moved his arm a little and opened an eye. “We are?”

Dean nodded. “It’s been go, go, go for too long. I reckon we’re due a week of doing nothing at the bunker.”

Sam kept his gaze on Dean. “Huh,” he said eventually.

“Huh?” Dean asked.

“That actually sounds like a really good idea,” Sam told him.

Dean headed for the shower, hiding his pleased grin. He might have missed the werewolf with his first shot, but he’d scored a bull’s eye with his holiday plan.

It was one of the shortest showers Dean had ever taken. He scrubbed himself clean, wanting to get back out there and tabulate the injuries that Sam had taken thanks to Dean being slow. 

He pulled on a pair of boxers after he’d dried off. He came out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel through his hair. “You ready for me to play doctor?” he asked and then flinched at how not right that sounded. “Sammy?”

Sam’s eyes were closed now, arms splayed out on the bed, star-fishing across the mattress. He looked about five years old. One foot was hanging off the bed and the other leg was bent at a slight angle. Dean smiled to himself. 

This was the Sam that he’d been big brother to for most of his life. This was the Sam that Dean could deal with. This was the Sam that hadn’t made bad choices. This was the Sam that Dean had always been ready to die for.

He grabbed some of the liniment that they kept for bruises and aches and warmed a blob of it in his hands. 

He took Sam’s foot in his hand and started spreading the liniment over the thin skin of Sam’s ankle. He was careful with how hard he pressed, cautious with his fingers in a way that spoke of love and care.

He remembered that moment of fear when Sam had stumbled, gone down beneath the weight of the werewolf. Dean had been sure that he’d been too late, that missing that first shot had resulted in Sam being ripped apart by a monster.

He finished rubbing the liniment in and reached for the pressure bandage. At least wearing this while he slept would give Sam’s ankle the chance to heal.

He propped Sam’s foot on his knee and started wrapping it up. Sam made a noise in his sleep and Dean froze. A small snuffle and Sam’s arm was over his face again. The snoring would have to stop though. Dean poked Sam in his side and Sam’s hand flapped at Dean’s finger.

Dean grinned to himself and poked Sam again, always careful of Sam’s ankle.

“Fu off,” Sam muttered and his eyes cracked open. They widened when he saw Dean sitting at his side. “Wha?” he asked.

“Just making sure that there’s no excuse for bitching about your poor swollen ankle in the morning,” Dean told him and clipped the snap over the end of the bandage. He looked at his handiwork. “That should hold.”

“Uh, Dean?” Sam stared at him.

Dean tilted his chin. He didn’t want to get into one of Sam’s warm and fuzzy chick-flick type talks right now. “You were the one hurt, I do the doctoring,” he said.

“Yeah, but I hurt the _other_ ankle,” Sam said and grinned.

Dean wanted to bathe in that smile. With all the crap they’d been through, Sam’s wide, genuine _Sammy_ smile had been scarce.

“Fuck,” Dean said. “Goddammit, you asshole.”

Sam fell back against his pillows and his laugh was belly-deep and rich. “Oh my god, you wrapped up my good ankle!” Sam was wheezing with glee.

Dean wanted to hit him. Or hug him. Maybe both.

“I hate you,” he told Sam and started unwrapping Sam’s ankle.

Sam’s hand stopped his. “Don’t,” he said. “Leave it.”

Dean glared at him. “I’m not leaving this on here so that you can mock me for the rest of your unnatural life,” he said.

Sam’s smile was softer now. It was the smile that only Dean ever got to see. “It’s good,” he said. “I’m good.”

Dean snorted and tried to move. Sam’s hand tightened on his. “Let go, Gigantor. Some of us need our rest.”

Sam tugged so that Dean fell forward and was instantly wrapped up in Sam’s ridiculously long arms. “Fuck off, Sam.” Dean tried to get loose, always aware of Sam’s injuries.

“Go to sleep, Dean,” Sam ordered. “Our vacation starts tomorrow and I have ideas.”

Dean froze. “Ideas?” he asked. “What sort of ideas?”

“Oh you know, fireworks and birthday cakes.” Sam’s smile was in his voice and Dean would deny to his dying day that _he_ was feeling pretty warm and fuzzy right now.

“Christmas?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” Sam hummed. “Been too long since we had some brother time.”

Dean wondered where this was coming from. Then he thought about how much they’d been through over the past few years. Sam going to Hell, coming back without a soul, Dean going to Purgatory, Sam not looking for him. He took a deep breath, “Brother time sounds good.”

Sam’s silence was his only answer. That, and the tightening of his arms around Dean. “We’re too old for this, Sammy.” 

“Shut up,” Sam mumbled, halfway to oblivion. 

Dean growled low in his throat but Sam had wound his legs around Dean’s so that if Dean tried to move he’d jar Sam’s ankle. “Fuck,” he muttered. It was just like Sam had been as a kid when they’d had to share a bed. Goddam octopus.

“Go to sleep, jerk,” Sam whispered into the hair at Dean’s neck.

“Stop telling me what to do, bitch,” Dean retorted.

And dropped into sleep like a stone.


End file.
